Stormy Hawkins (Prairie Hearts Series Book 1)

by Ana Morgan

  Her fingers brushed against a letter opener. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but she had surprise on her side. She gripped it and whirled around. Jabbed it toward Vance’s waist.

  With a high-pitched yelp, he sucked in his stomach and backed away.

  ~ ~ ~

  Blade crouched under the Land & Loan’s front window and peered inside.

  The redheaded cowgirl brandished a slender, shiny knife at the Land & Loan man. The man’s hands were raised in surrender as he backed away from a massive desk.

  Every muscle in Blade’s body tensed. The hellion was robbing the Land & Loan.

  He couldn’t allow her to get away with it. His family owned a bank in St. Louis. Though he’d vowed never to speak to his parents or brother again, thieves had to be stopped. He sprang to his feet, flattened his body against the building, and prepared to disarm her when she stepped outside.

  The door opened. The cowgirl shuffled back onto the plank landing.

  “You listen good, Jonathan Vance,” she hissed. “Our steers will be fat by fall, and we’ll pay our note on time. Until then, keep your fence cutting, steer stealing, ranch assessing goons off our land.”

  Blade sprang forward. In one smooth motion, he snared her hand and stripped the knife from her grip.

  She cried with surprise and whirled to face him. Her chest heaved as if she’d run a grueling race. Full, round breasts strained the buttons of her shirt. Crimson marks, oozing blood, marred her throat.

  He glanced down at the knife. He’d relieved her of a fancy letter opener, the kind used by bankers, not cowpunchers.

  Her deep blue eyes narrowed in angry recognition. “You again?”

  Before he could explain why he was here, and why he’d disarmed her, her fist struck the side of his nose.

  The blow caught him off guard. He staggered sideways.

  His nose started to run. He swiped it with the back of his hand and was relieved when he didn’t see a bloody smear.

  She darted around him, ran to her pinto, and clambered into the saddle. After a brisk rub of her knuckles against her thigh, she patted the butt of the shotgun. “Mister, if I see you again, I’ll shoot. Bank on it.”

  She scooped up her reins and reeled her horse around. He soon lost sight of her in a retreating cloud of dust.

  He scratched his head. What the hell had just happened?

  Only then did he notice that a small crowd had gathered. Clustered in groups of twos and threes, the onlookers gaped and whispered. They’d seen quite a show, but only the last act. They didn’t know what had happened before Stormy Hawkins struck him.

  The Land & Loan man stepped outside. He jerked his head toward the cowgirl’s back and uttered a single, harsh laugh. “You got it today, friend. My little fiancée has a big temper.”

  Fiancée? Blade almost choked on his shock. He’d just witnessed the cowgirl threaten her husband-to-be with the business end of the letter opener and rush off with bloody marks on her neck.

  He’d never struck Candy when she was his fiancée. Not when she admitted to lying about wanting to live with him on a ranch. Not when he figured out that she’d seduced his brother.

  The man extended a manicured hand. Red smears stained the tips of three fingernails. “Jonathan Vance, Mayor of Prosperity. Future state assemblyman.”

  “Blade Masters.” He held out the letter opener, handle first. “This yours?”

  Vance slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks. It’s pure silver.” He set his hand on Blade’s shoulder with insincere familiarity and waved like a politician at the townspeople.

  Blade’s skin crawled with disgust. He shrugged off Vance’s hand, stepped onto the dirt street, and weaved through the crowd.

  “Stop by later and I’ll show you the barbershop that’s for sale,” Vance called after him. “Prosperity is growing fast. Lot of opportunity for a smart, hardworking man like yourself.”

  A prim, middle-aged woman wearing a starched shopkeeper’s apron seized Blade’s arm.

  “Are you all right? I saw how that Stormy Hawkins attacked you. Let me assure you, the rest of us raise our girls right.”

  “I’m sure that’s true, Mrs.—”

  “Farber. I own the general store. I have a daughter named Abigail. You’ll meet her when you come in for supplies.” She rushed in front of him, blocking his path. “You will need supplies.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Excuse me, ma’am.” Stepping around her, he ignored the other onlookers and made a beeline for the hotel.

  To his relief, the lobby was empty. He followed his nose until he found the kitchen and tossed a coin to the startled cook as an apology for walking out on his breakfast order. Four more determined steps led him to the kitchen’s back door.

  As he headed back toward the livery, he wondered if he might be the reason Stormy Hawkins had charged into Vance’s office. She’d accused him of being a “bank boy” before ordering him off her land. Then, she’d rushed to town and picked a fight with Vance.

  The banker had joked about her temper, but she’d had no marks on her neck earlier this morning. Or, when she’d entered the Land & Loan. The banker—Vance—must have put them there.

  She’d managed to defend herself, but what about the next time? Vance might do worse than bruise her throat. No woman, not even a smart-mouthed, gun-toting, dress-like-a-man redhead, deserved to be manhandled.

  Did her kinfolk know? And, what was written on that paper clutched in her fist when she pounded on the Land & Loan door?

  Determined to get answers, Blade quickened his step. He’d find a way to meet Mr. Hawkins. When he got acquainted, he’d befriend the feisty cowgirl. Describe the possibilities that lay beyond the confines of her ranch and this small town and make her see that she had options far better than Jonathan Vance.

  Then, when he convinced her family to sell, he’d have two reasons to celebrate.

  Chapter 2

  “Men are low down, no good snakes.” Stormy raged at the solitary puffball cloud that shadowed her and her pinto.

  Her bruised knuckles ached. She looped Odin’s reins around the saddle horn and massaged the discoloring skin.

  It was bad enough dealing with Jonathan Vance, but now he’d found a fast-thinking man to help him. She’d encountered him twice this morning. Bested him both times, too.

  Hopefully he’d heed her warning and hightail it back to the bank in Yankton. If he showed up again, she’d hogtie him and turn him into a steer.

  That would make Vance think twice before he claimed they were engaged.

  She’d kissed him at last year’s Founders Day dance because she’d wanted to know what a man’s kiss felt like. It wasn’t because she’d overheard a town busybody say she was too eccentric to snag a husband. She didn’t want one.

  Oh, every now and then she minded being single. If she had the arm of a fine-looking beau, people might stop gossiping that her mother had been a whore. Stop whispering that Zed might not be her father.

  Odin stumbled.

  As she worked to recover her balance, Stormy heard hoof beats coming up from behind. She turned in the saddle and scanned the road until she saw the rider on a black quarter horse.

  She stopped and dismounted. Pulled her shotgun from its saddle holster. She didn’t relish the idea of firing, but a spray of buckshot always made a powerful impression.

  The rider slowed his horse to a walk. It was Vance’s man, the one she’d lammed on the nose. No doubt come for revenge. Banks never paid for a job undone.

  “Turn around and ride back to town,” she hollered. “I’ll shoot.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  She hunkered down and aimed at the peak of his slate-colored Stetson. “I’m a real good shot.”

  “I’m sure you are, Miss Hawkins,
but you don’t have any ammunition.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out two shotgun shells.

  Startled, she checked her gun. It was empty.

  He moved his mare closer. He sat easily in the saddle, like a man used to horse work. “Just so you know,” he said, “right now I’m as suspicious of you as you are of me.”

  “What?”

  “You got me.” He tapped the side of his nose. “It still smarts.”

  Wary, she waited for him to make his move. He wasn’t close enough to smack with the butt of her gun, but she tightened her grip anyway.

  He didn’t budge. In fact, he didn’t seem bent on threatening her at all. His broad shoulders swayed slightly as his mare shifted under him. Saddle leather creaked under a trim waist and lean hips. One leg of his dark jeans had a stain the color of boiled beans.

  She studied him more closely. Locks of his long, black hair had slipped free of a leather tie-back, and his eyes were the color of Zed’s special occasion brandy. If she were a love-starved farmer’s daughter, she’d bat her eyelashes in a come-and-get-me invite. But, she wasn’t. She was a smart, capable rancher who could take care of herself. And, she wanted answers. “Why were you at the Land & Loan?”

  “I could ask you the same question. Why did you go inside?”

  “None of your business. Answer my question.”

  He avoided her eyes. “I heard shouts and a crash. I didn’t know the two of you were engaged.”

  “Did he tell you that?” She raised her chin and immediately regretted it. Her neck ached where Jonathan Vance had squeezed. “We’re not.”

  The rider scratched the stubble charcoaling his strong, square jaw. “I don’t cotton to men hurting women.”

  His assertion made her feel unsteady, like she had a touch of fever, and he had a cure.

  “I also don’t think women should hit men.”

  His mare nodded her head like a corroborating witness.

  “I think you owe me an apology,” he persisted.

  “An apology?” For a handsome man, he sure was dumb. “You grabbed me from behind.”

  “I was disarming you. For public safety.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Not even a simple, I’m sorry?” His smile hinted that he was teasing, but the glint in his eyes screamed that he was flirting.

  A flush of heat rushed to her cheeks. Other than Vance’s double-dealing flattery, the men in town avoided her. Still, she wasn’t ready to trust this stranger. “Why were you on our land?”

  “I ran out of daylight and didn’t know I was trespassing.” He leaned down and held out her Winchester’s shells in a calloused palm. “I didn’t see a fence.”

  As she plucked the shells up and reloaded, she weighed his explanation.

  “From the little I saw last night,” he continued, “your spread is really something. I’m saving to buy a ranch of my own.”

  She recalled his name. “Have you worked cattle before, Mr. Masters?”

  “Here and there. Belinda has taught me a lot.” He patted his mare affectionately. “Miss Hawkins, would you consider letting us stay on for a month? I’d like to learn how you run your ranch. For when I get my own.”

  Stormy’s mind raced. They’d taken a big risk rushing to buy the six hundred and forty acres that abutted the ranch, but Widow Butler’s lowland was just what their steers needed in late summer, when the blazing sun withered high-ground grass. They’d just started to fence it when Zed had his heart attack. If this cowboy was worth his salt and took Zed’s place, they’d get back on schedule.

  If they didn’t, they could lose everything. But, could she could trust him? What if he was lazy? Or, a card shark? What if he proved to be a thief?

  The cowboy was still talking. “I’m strong, and Belinda is real gentle. We’re used to sleeping under the stars. We’d work for our board.”

  Her head whipped in his direction. “How hard do you work?”

  “How hard do you work?”

  “Sunup to sundown. Rain or shine. You think you can keep up?”

  “I’d try my best.” He smiled a smile that made her toes want to curl like cat’s paws. “So, what do you say, Miss Hawkins? Do we have a deal?”

  She still wasn’t sure. Zed believed coincidences were as random as raindrops and dangerous as hailstones. Worried about rustlers and the bank note, he hadn’t been sleeping well. Having a stranger around might disquiet him more.

  Brownie, on the other hand, always said, ‘Iffen a man gives you a horse, don’t count its ribs.’

  If Mr. Masters helped to build their fence, Zed could rest and regain his strength. Their steers would fatten on lush lowland grass, and by the end of October, fetch top dollar from the finicky quartermaster at Fort Randall. They’d pay off the bank note and have clear title to the ranch again. Vance would have no reason to bother her anymore. Everything that was wrong would end right.

  Odin touched his nose to the mare’s. Her tail flicked high, but other than that, she didn’t move.

  Horses were smart. They “knew” things better than people most times. She decided to follow Odin’s lead.

  “Here’s my offer, Mr. Masters. We’ll train you in exchange for a bunk with clean sheets and all the food you can eat. You’ll work hard and sleep like a baby. No gambling. Keep your opinions to yourself.” She mounted her gelding and picked up the reins. “Take it or leave me alone.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Blade’s stomach growled as he and Stormy rode past a Hawkins Ranch sign. She’d promised hot, home-cooked food, but even crusted, two-day-old leftovers sounded good right now. He’d walked out on a steak, and yesterday he’d eaten only leathery jerky.

  Still, he was making good progress. He’d been invited onto the Hawkins’ ranch, and Stormy hadn’t hit him or threatened to shoot him in the past quarter hour.

  She intrigued him, and not just because he was partial to pretty redheads. She handled her horse well. Talked about her land and the work needing to be done with an intensity he hoped to share. It was clear she didn’t trust him, but after witnessing how she was viewed in town, he understood her wariness.

  After meeting Stormy, he looked forward to meeting Mr. Hawkins. He enjoyed talking to ranchers, so his interest was genuine and usually well received. He’d take his time. Circle around the subject of retirement until the right moment.

  And, he’d keep his hands in plain sight. Reassure Mr. Hawkins that Blade Masters had no intentions of compromising his daughter. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. His johnson didn’t work like that anymore.

  “Stop it right there!” Stormy abruptly reined up her pinto and fixed him with a slit-eyed glare. “If you mention one word about what I did at the Land & Loan this morning, I’ll say you chased me all the way home. Brownie will skin you alive while Running Bear bashes your skull with his heaviest frying pan. By the time Zed gets the facts straight, you’ll be dead.”

  Blade willed his jaw not to drop. Candy had bullied him with tantrums and tears. Stormy Hawkins believed in action, and from the sound of it, she had willing helpers.

  The corners of her mouth twitched. “We’ll bury you deep and never tell.”

  He spotted a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She was teasing him like the rough and tumble Kansas ranch hands who’d taught him to ride and rope five years ago. He’d learned to play their game, and he could learn to play hers. “What about Belinda?”

  “Running Bear will forge your mark on a bill of sale, and everyone will think she’s ours fair and square. We’ll take good care of her.”

  “I could write my last will and testament right now. Might take me a while.”

  “Another bad idea. Brownie gets madder than a hornet in a jar when I’m late for meals. He’ll come looking, and you know what wil
l happen then.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Keep your ears open and your mouth shut.”

  He crossed his arms. “Keeping quiet is hard work. Make it worth my while.”

  Her pretty lips pursed and held his attention. Finally, she said, “First in the tub on bath night.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Blade followed Stormy around another hill and leaned forward, scarcely able to believe his eyes. The homestead he’d built and rebuilt a thousand times in his mind stood before him in living color.

  The cozy, two-story cabin had sash windows and a shiny tin roof. Gray-white smoke spiraled from its square brick chimney, and rocking chairs lined the wide front porch. Two dozen brown hens and a rooster with a tall red comb scratched in the front yard.

  A shiny, whirling windmill pumped water into a stock trough. The red barn and attached corral looked sturdy and tight. Work wagons, two-seater outhouse, garden with weeded rows of vegetable seedlings, firewood split and stacked. Everything was just how he’d always wanted his place to look.

  The only features he’d never envisioned were the weathered tipi towering over a line of flowering berry bushes, and the big black hound with hair stiff on its back. Its eyes glowed wolf-yellow before it raised its nose and howled like a riverboat foghorn.

  “That’s Napoleon,” Stormy said. “If Brownie likes you, he’ll like you.”

  Gripping Belinda’s reins, Blade dismounted. He’d gotten them into this pickle, and he’d get them out of it. His mare danced uneasily behind him as he held out his hand for the hound to sniff. “Hey there, big fella. My name is Blade.”

  The lanky man with the scraggly, salt-and-pepper beard, who’d chased him off at gunpoint a few hours ago, ran from the house, checkered napkin flapping under his chin. He hollered over his shoulder, “Zed, git your gun!”